Romeo The Mafia Casanova

Romeo’s [POV]

I listened until I couldn’t listen anymore until my blood burned with a rage so hot, so deadly that I was having trouble seeing in front of me.

Tristian.

Fucking Tristian.

He had everything.

Fucking everything!

And this was how he treated her? Treated his son?

My gut twisted with a wave of anger so foreign that I knew if I didn’t walk out of that room soon, I would decimate it; there would be nothing left of it, nothing left of Tristian but dust as he returned to the very ground he had come out of.

I wouldn’t say his last rights.

I wouldn’t send him to Heaven.

I’d damn him to Hell, and I’d do it with a smile on my face and anger in my soul.

It wouldn’t matter if I damned myself in the process. All that mattered was that Eden was safe, that she got her retribution, and that fear was no longer pretending to be love.

God, had I done this?

Was I the reason she was sobbing on the couch?

“I sure the fuck will,” I repeated in case no one had heard me.

Eden gasped, her eyes going wide with fear, then horror, and ending in shame as she turned away like she didn’t want me to see her at her worst when she believed I’d only ever loved her at her best.

Wrong.

How very wrong she was.

I would take her any way I could have her.

Blind.

Broken.

Half dead.

Aged.

She was mine.

Always had been, always would be, and it took me years to admit it to myself.

I had done what was best.

For my two best friends.

I’d handed him gold, and he had treated it like dirt.

Nobody harmed what was mine; it didn’t matter that his ring was on her finger-she owned my soul, and mine recognized hers as one thing.

Ours.

Blood protected blood even if the person who needed protection couldn’t be the one to do it.

Tears rolled down her pretty cheeks as she sat trembling in her small spot on the couch. I’d never seen her so disheveled, I’d never seen her so scared.

And what was worse?

The light I’d so often seen in her, the one I’d treasured, the one I’d thought holy and sacred… was gone.

Vanished like the mist.

That fucker had blown it out.

How had this gone so wrong?

I crouched down on my haunches, my Glock in my shaking left hand at my side as I reached up my right hand and gripped her chin, turning her head from side to side. “Are. You. Hurt?”

She wouldn’t meet my eyes; I made her, not out of anger but out of fucking need to know she would be okay. I needed it more than air, more than my soul. I needed her to be okay.

I wouldn’t survive anything but.

Finally, my girl lifted her eyes to mine.

I would rather suffer a million cuts.

A thousand tortures.

Dying over and over again only to be resurrected and killed again, then see the look she had on her face.

“No,” she finally whispered, “I’m not hurt.”

I didn’t release her chin right away; instead, my thumb caressed down her jaw as I promised, “I won’t kill him, you have my word, but he needs to be punished for thinking he can touch you in any way that hurts you.”

I released her then.

She looked down at the hardwood floor.

With a curse, I stood and stomped out of the house in a frenzy of rage, and I hopped in my car. I jammed my foot on the accelerator so hard my leg hurt.

It took me less than nine minutes to make it to their house and see that the lights were off, and his Mercedes wasn’t parked out front.

“Where are you…?” I mumbled to myself, recalling the conversation she’d had with her father.

He’d been drunk.

She’d thrown out all the alcohol.

A bar?

The one shit hole that was closest to this neighborhood, our bar, the one that held all our good memories. I didn’t want to accidentally kill him during happy hour for being a jackass, and that was bound to happen if he opened his mouth.

I sped off, continuing to see visions of Eden’s tear-stained face, getting more pissed as I drove, and before I knew it, I was in front of the old dive bar staring down Tristian’s black Mercedes and plotting pain.

I killed the engine, got out, and slowly walked along the perimeter of his car, my knife held in my right hand as I drew a nice line into the expensive paint.

Piece of shit.

When I was done, I folded the knife and shoved it into my pocket. People were scattered outside smoking, and groping. I sneered and yanked open the heavy wooden door.

Tristian was at the bar with a familiar face.

A woman.

Their heads were too close together.

Their lips were even closer.

Tristian has drunk off his ass, but even drunk, he knew better. He leaned toward her and placed a hand over hers.

She stood, murmuring something in his ear while he slid a hand down her lower back, pulling her between his thighs. He briefly expressed something and sent her on her way.

With a curse, I made my way through the crowd and sat on the empty stool next to him. “Playing with fire.”

Tristian did a slow double take and downed the glass of whiskey. “Mind your own fucking business.”

“You know the rules, brother,” I practically spat out the word; what weight did it even carry anymore? “No touching another man’s wife, no looking, and no abuse of your own.”

The woman he had just been with started back toward him again, her eyes zeroed in on Tristian like a fucking snack.

“No.” I held up my hand. “Turn your ass around and go sit the fuck down.”

She gasped while Tristian shot to his feet and swayed a bit. “You can’t say that to her!”

She had brass balls; I’d give her that. She stepped forward, falling into my arms like she was a damsel in distress. I didn’t fall for her bullshit, shoving her away.

I sneered, “You disgust me. You’re defending that woman. And yet your wife flees her own home in fear? Are you fucking kidding me right now?” I shoved his chest. “Now sit your ass down before I do it for you!”

“She’s not yours to protect, brother.” He lifted a finger to order another shot. “Remember who she married.”

“I protect the family. And in a way, I’m protecting you. Fuck this up, and it’s going to be your head rolling down the street. You’re lucky I’m here, not her father, not Andrei, not our father! You’re breaking all sorts of rules, which means… there will be consequences.”

He gave me a sideways glance and tried to bolt in the other direction, but he was slower than hell. I grabbed him by the back of his shirt, then picked him up and slammed him against the bar top. Glass went flying around us, and people immediately scattered.

“Hurt her again. Threaten her again. Make her afraid, again, and I’ll personally take out the hit on your life, not because I need the money, or because you’re my brother and I should make it fucking quick, but because I want to be the last person you see before your descent into Hell because that’s where men like you go.” I threw a right jab into his gut, causing him to keel over. “So you remember…who holds your marker.”

With that, I kneed him in the face. He fell to the grimy floor, groveling in pain. I left him there, coughing up blood. Cussing me out like the drunk he was.

I always thought Tristian and I were different, but I was wrong.

We were pathetically the same.

Neither of us was willing to grasp the gift that we’d been given.

I had given her to him.

And he was too chicken shit to accept her.

Just like I had been.

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Fucking idiots.

Bastards who didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as her.

She loved us both.

And it still wasn’t enough for us to love ourselves enough to fucking receive it.

I shoved the wooden door open and stepped through. Gravel crunched beneath my shoes as I walked toward my car, making the call I’d been dreading to make since I saw the woman at Tristian’s side.

“Yeah?” Bartolo, Eden’s father, answered on the first ring.

I didn’t hesitate in state…

“We’ve got a big fucking problem.”